A review of "Just Kids" - Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe's Deep Friendship

It was the late 60's. You could be homeless in New York and not be weird. Patti Smith was that. I don't really get it because I'm a farm girl from Iowa who was terrified of going to Iowa City for college .... I couldn't imagine going to New York City then. (But, she was a New Jersey girl and ggod at following her heart.)

She met Robert Mapplethorpe in a Brooklyn flat the first day she was there but didn't get his name. Quite coincidentally (especially in NY) she ran into him a couple of months later in the East Village and recognized him, so she stopped him on the street. They had an immediate connection and became friends, soulmates, lovers, and muses for each other.

If you want a great history of New York in the late 60's and early 70's -- stories that include Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Lou Reed, Sam Shepard, Dylan, Andy Warhol, Dali, and people I whose names still mean nothing to me -- this is a book for you. I like the narrative, but I rather wanted a bit more juice, more feeling. I do think it gets stronger as she gets closer to the end - when he dies. It is incredibly touching and makes you believe in the concept of soulmates.

If you like music, culture, art and were ever a hippie or thinking of being one -- this is a book for you. I sort of hung out on the fringe of hippeville in Iowa City, but still find it interesting. I had friends dropping acid while I cooked. I was way too scared to try it. (Oddly, Smith is very much the same - not interested in drugs much at all, while Mapplethorpe drops acid to go meet her parents because it relaxes him!) Give me a nice glass of wine. Even a joint a couple of times a week back then, a little Joni Mitchell. Anyway, you'll get heroin, hustling, homosexuality and the loft scene in New York in the 60's where there were no toilets. You peeed in a cup. Everyone lived like this in her world, it seemed.

The biggest surprise???? That Patti Smith had a relationship with Sam Shepard- she didn't know who he was when she met him. He was brilliant and gorgeous - then, too. A good combination. And seemed like a good enough guy. Lucky her.

Pick it up. It's a quick read and great party conversation...

Epiphany

David at the Accedemia in Florence, Italy.

I am writing a memoir. It's a lot of work and involves lots of insecure moments wondering "Why are you doing this? You are not really a writer." But, like in a yoga class, I observe the thought and let it go when I can.

Anyway...the book is about being a late bloomer. I didn't really know what I wanted to be or do until I was in my 50's and I didn't find the love of my life until I was in my 40's. It involves a lot of looking back at how I was raised - on a farm in Iowa - in a very naive, innocent way. This was both wonderful and problematic. It was the wellspring that fed my artistic imagination, but it was also the ball and chain that kept me making choices that were safe. I was very happy as a big fish in a small pond. I was terrified of anything else.

I never traveled. I left Iowa three times before I was 22. Once I went to Milwaukee to visit relatives. A second time I went to Minnesota to ice fish with my grandparents. Alecia's big trip was to Disneyland with my family in a camper when I was twelve. My father had won a trip or, trust me, we never would have gone.

I did not leave this country until I was 53 years old. I was a big baby about flying - especially across the ocean, so I just avoided it, but I could feel my life shrinking. So, as you might know from a previous post on my fear of flying, I got a prescription for Xanax and took the leap and ended up in Florence, Italy for a month. In Florence, Lee and I enrolled in a course called "History of Renaissance Art" offered by the British Institute of Florence. Well, it knocked our socks off and, especially, I will never, every forget the first time I saw the David and Michelangelo's Slaves, all at the Accademia.

So...as a parent, I fight tooth and nail to give my children the confidence to travel, to move away from home, to explore the world. I was never, ever given this gift. (And I still will tell you I had wonderful parents.) I am the father who wanted to be the quarterback but never made it, I am the sagging ballerina who wanted to dance the role of the Swan and only made the corps. I pushed, kicked and cajoled my children into trying new things. And, lo and behold, they did it.

Zan went to Paris at nineteen for a semester abroad. I was too poor at the time to visit him, but lived vicariously through him - at this time, in 2005, I still had not been to Europe. Isabelle is now spending an entire school year in Madrid. I talk to her by skype about four times a week, maybe more. I am so happy, I am like a jumping bean when I think of what they, especially she (as a young woman) is learning about navigating the world.

So, this week, I had a little epiphany, a moment when I realized how profoundly travel and living in another culture (including "other cultures" in the US - look at the differences between the South, the Midwest, California, Colorado, New York and Texas!!!!!) informs who you are, fills in the cracks, allows for fluency in the languages of a culture - let alone fluency in another literal language, which she now has. Here's the little story:

When I was in Italy (now it has been three different trips to Florence) I always, always go see the David and the Slaves at the Accademia. I love them both so much I would like to eat them! Well, Isabelle was in Florence over her winter break with friends. I told her she had to go see the David, of course. So, she did (and who wouldn't?) After her trip,we were chatting about that experience.

"It was the best art I saw on the whole trip. (She had been to Rome, to the Uffizzi in Florence and to Venice.) It was so cool, Mom, because it was a show of a modern photographer. I forget his name. Robert? He photographs men."

I interrupted. "Mapplethorpe? Robert Mapplethorpe?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's it. Anyway, it was so cool - it just rocked. You thought you were just seeing this photography exhibit, then, suddenly, you enter into this great hall and there is the David and you don't expect it. It was gorgeous how they played off each other."

I was tingling. I knew very little about Robert Mapplethorpe. I knew that much of Mapplethorpe's work was homo-erotic. That's about all I knew. I couldn't claim to know his oeuvre. But, I kind of got the connection she was describing. And was so happy that, for Izzy, a young modern woman of 20, she was able to make a connection with the 16th Century work of Michelangelo through a 20th Century photographer (who was really my contemporary, born in 1946.)

This week I began reading Patti Smith's memoir, Just Kids, about her life in New York with Robert Mapplethorpe. And, what do you know?????? He was obsessed with Michelangelo! He was especially obsessed with the Slaves sculptures (which were also my favorite), the sculptures meant for the Pope, which were never finished, and are so starkly revealing in that state. They seem ultimately modern. He plastered their walls with images of the Slaves sculptures.

So I am so excited to learn this, I email Izzy. Today we discussed the whole darn thing. The amazing connection between Mapplethorpe and Michelangelo and the amazing fact that I read about it.

I know this is really a little thing. But there was not the remotest possibility that my own mother and I could have had this conversation when I was 20 or 30 or 40 or 50. She has never traveled to Europe - only to Canada. This happened because I transcended the boundaries that shackled me as a young woman and because I did not pass them on to my daughter as a legacy. Just this simple fact that we had both stood, in our own time, in the same room in Florence, looking up at the David, soaring to the heavens. That we could talk about it. That we understood the connection between Mapplethorpe and Michelangelo. I wanted to weep. Those moments when the electric current of life sparks between you is both tender and magnificent. I don't know if Izzy saw it, but it was a watershed moment for me. I imagine she is taking it for granted at this point. But, to me, it is a miracle and a gift and takes great courage to leave the nest and I want to be sure that she understands both the risks she is taking and the privilege it affords. To our children, that they may not be afraid.

Oh, ugh, winter.

Do you especially love the color of the snow where it meets the road?


There is no hope for cars. I haven't washed mine since November. You should see the inside. A puddle of muck has moved into my driver's side floor mat.

Here is what it looks like where I live in Minnesota. When I flew in on Monday from New York, I really thought I might have been landing in Siberia. It was barren, white, icy and snow was blowing. There was almost no traffic on the roads. A battalion of the Army's cargo planes, looking like dinosaurs, greeted me on landing. It was like the USSR in 1965. Creepy.

I arrived home and climbed over a mountain of ice and snow to get to my sidewalk with my bags, huffing, puffing and cursing. Fully comparing the sidewalks of Minneapolis to the sidewalks of New York which are maintained impeccably. They are always dry. Leave it to the doormen.

So, I've been really crabby. I get up. I slather on ridiculous amounts of oil and cream on my parched and cracking face. I shower only every other day as I feel like I might just break like brittle if I dry out my skin any more than it is. I slide into jeans, snowboots, my Northface and wrap my face in a big old scarf, pull on my Tibetan cap and head out to warm up the car...for 20 minutes. I head back inside to wait for this to happen.

I'm sleeping 10 hours a night wrapped (thank god) in cashmere pants my sister gave me and a holey old cashmere sweater. (Remember I sleep alone in Minneapolis.) I tuck in with my tea, my book and my down. It is just freezing and a bit lonely.

In this mood, I am eating junk. Wine, coffee, cheese, crackers, olives, finger food. Whatever is easy. I am not cooking. But...I went to my acupuncturist today and he gently pointed out that most health matters (my really tender lower back) can be addressed by diet. So...after an out of this body acupuncture experience, I headed home to wine, crackers, cheese AND homemade vegetable soup. Such a winter treat. Here is the recipe, in case you are interested....with visuals!


Vegetable Soup

Pour Olive oil into a soup pan so that it just covers the bottom of the pan.
Heat on low.

Add 1 diced onion.
Add 2 -3 garlic cloves, chopped or pressed. (Use as much as you like garlic.)
Saute garlic and onion for 5 minutes or so until soft. Watch heat so it doesn't burn.

Add vegetables one at a time, chopping into bite size pieces. I like my pieces on the large side. Here, I used:

2 heads broccoli
4 red potatoes, unpeeled.
5 carrots
Cauliflower - 1/4 head
Green pepper - 1/2 diced

Add a few shakes of red (cayenne) pepper, salt, black pepper, some oregano (if you like.)

I saute this in the oil. You may want to add more oil. Lynne Rossetto Kasper says that you will have more flavor if you take this step - sauteing the veggies before you add liquid.

After 5 - 8 minutes, add enough organic chicken broth to cover the veggies. In this case, it took the whole carton (4 cups.)

Cook 10 minutes.

Add 2/3 large can (about a cup +) of Organic Crushed Muir Glen tomatoes (or your favorite.)

Stir - add a few more if you like a really tomato-y soup.

Cook 15 - 25 minutes. Test for flavor and add salt, pepper, whatever you like. Just keep the heat on low or you will overcook the veggies. They can get soggy.

Other things to add:

Green Beans
Peas
Kidney Beans

Stay warm. Stay cozy. I'm going to hibernate.

My LIfe

Lee's Gin and Tonic


My cooking mess.


Game Day Chili with Cilantro and Cheddar


Go, Brett!

There is a sweet Iris Dement song called "My Life." Here are the lyrics of the first verse and chorus:

My life, it don't count for nothing.
When I look at this world, I feel so small.
My life, it's only a season:
A passing September that no one will recall.

But I gave joy to my mother.
And I made my lover smile.
And I can give comfort to my friends when they're hurting.
And I can make it seem better for a while.

What I love about this song is how much it makes me appreciate the most simple moments. And tonight I was feeling that. Just back from a walk to my gorcery in NY, interacting with the stock boys who were dying to know how the Jets were doing in the playoff game, collecting my organic beef from the very cute, young, dark butcher - who becomes a butcher these days? "Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Ma'am."

"You, too. Thanks," I smiled.

Then I headed home in the 40-degree mist. I was thinking how much I love the dampness - how good my skin feels. I have spent time in Colorado where I need to embed myself in a tube of chapstick. I can't stand it! I love humidity. Have you ever seen a 70-year from South Carolina? They look fantastic!

Anyway, I came home and Lee was in his throne - the brown leather chair, watching the end of the Jets - Colts game. Well, sadly, the Jets lost. But, this was just foreplay. The real game was the Vikings vs. the Saints. So I hit the kitchen, opened my vino and got to cookin'. This being a football Sunday, what else could I make but chili?

So, I did and at one point, I turned to Lee and said, "I am in bliss. Cooking here in my little kitchen, everything at my fingertips. Walking to the store, the library, everything a walk. Here with you in this little apartment. I like this little life."

It is hard to describe. I am in my element, at home. I'm a cliche. But I am happy.

We're on to you, Oilily

The whole thing - boiled wool jacket, skirt fabric has silver threads - eat your heart out,
Bergamo!


Can you stand these shoes!? Sequins.
Early 20th Century Ukraine.


Love. Just love. Buttons, fluffy things. Little embroidered flowers. It must have been a sewing fest.


Wedding hat. It actually has little paper pom-poms on the top!


Yum.


This is the cutest.

I have a new project, which is taking me in a whole new direction. A lovely couple from Minneapolis has hired me to write a book on Ukrainian style - especially the village life and the folk arts. Long story how this came about, but suffice it to say, it is a happy accident that we met.

Here in New York, where I will do most of the writing, I have discovered the Ukrainian Museum (www.ukrainianmuseum.org) down on the Lower East Side -and decided to go yesterday to begin some of my research. The kinds of things I will be writing about include the beautiful embroideries, linens, pottery, painted eggs, block prints, textiles, food and holiday rituals.

The museum was a lovely surprise - as a Textiles and Design major in college, I was mesmerized by the delicate stitches, pleats and embroidery on the white linen shirts! And, my friend Anna (my Design Day compatriot) noticed, especially, the playful way the wedding costumes were decorated.

And...what do you know...we are pretty sure Oilily (www.oilily.com) must have been hanging around Ukrainian wedding costumes when they started their look many years ago. See what you think!

Back to Design

Well, one of the reasons I haven't written this week is that I have been finishing a project I have been working on for a few months. My clients, a family with a set of adorable twins with a third on the way, renovated the front part of their home in an effort to return it to some sense of its farmhouse style roots. It was heinous! Someone had haphazardly (with an emphasis on the hazard part) done some handy work in the '70's including turning a porch into an extension of the Living Room, carpeting and all, and adding a picture window to this 1910 gem. Really, people who do this to architecture should be hung by their toenails for a few days, then made to write a billion times "Houses have feelings too."

Paul Udris of U+B Architecture (www.uplusb.com) was the architect who did a great job of keeping the architecture quiet, tasteful, and edited so that the space feels essentially modern. Choice Wood was the contractor - really beautiful work.

We suddenly had a deadline - she was giving a party tonight - and that seemed to motivate her, so ask if I could pull things together quickly. I got to work scouring local antique shops and our best little independent retail stores and found everything I needed, some of it for a song. She just got out of my way and let me do my thing! "Oh, just do whatever you think," she would say, while she went about her life. So, I did. And now I know I probably do my best work this way. Thank you, Rebecca.

Here's the result: It will be on my website in a week or so. I am really happy because it is so calm. I'm into calm these days. Not doing much with color. Ask my mother, who asked me recently, "Why do you only wear black, honey?"

Oh...and my favorite spots:

NOLA Home in Bryn Mawr for the great rugs and Chinese vase
The Guild on Excelsior for accessories
H & B Gallery on Hennepin for the rattan woven bench
Hunt & Gather on Xerxes (yes, for that amazing white bird lamp!)
Zachary at IMS - always my first stop for accessories including the great Chinese garden stool
CW Smith for the lovely Asian furniture - the Tibetan leather chest / table and Chinese chest
The beautiful 19th C. mirror is from Center 44 in NYC

This, Just in....and Fear of Flying

"hi. in rome, heading to florence tomorrow. love love love rome. you
MUST come here.

love."


I got this from Izzy today - this morning - and it honestly gave me goosebumps. (For anyone that might not know, my 20-year old daughter, Isabelle, a student at UW-Madison, is spending her Junior year in Madrid.) I know, a lot of kids travel today. And, I also know that most don't. Most aren't as lucky as Isabelle. But, this is so meaningful to me because I was 53 years old before I ever crossed the Atlantic. I went to a state school, the University of Iowa, and did not know a single person who did a study abroad. I'm sure they did, but I did not ever know one - not one of my friends from high school and not one of my college friends. It was a different time, partly, but more than that, it was a different way of thinking about what was possible.

I didn't fly on a commercial airplane until I was 23 - to New York, to a city I had only dreamed about at 17. At 23, I still lived in Iowa City and was being trained in as a buyer of a rather chic, progressive women's clothing shop and it was a trip I could have only dreamed of - fashion shows, awards banquets and buying appointments, dinners in New York and a little shopping on the side.

I only flew a few more times in my 20s - then became afraid of flying. I did it but only when I couldn't avoid it - like going to spend Christmas with my father in law in Charleston, SC with our young family - or in Virginia with my mother-in-law. Eventually, I avoided it altogether. I couldn't bear the turbulence. Take off? Landing? No problem. Up in the air in a trembling martini shaker....no thank you.

I was also just afraid, in general. Of trying new things. From the outside, it may not have looked that way, but I recall desperately wanting to go to school in NY - FIT (to study fashion) or to study acting somewhere, but I was terrified and there was absolutely no support system that said, "Go. You can do that. Go." New York was the moon to a farm family from Iowa.

So, I shrunk my dreams to fit my fears.

Then, when I turned 51 and I had been married to Lee for about 7 years, he moved to LA while I stayed in Minneapolis. I knew that I would never see him again if I did not get over my fear of flying. I also knew that I would never get to Europe if I didn't tackle it. So, I just decided I would get over it. I had to see Paris before I died.

With a xanax at a time, I re-conditioned my thinking. Because the xanax prevented me from worrying when I was flying (in fact, you basically wouldn't even worry much if you were plummeting out of the sky...whatever!) I stopped associating turbulence with anxiety. And, now, after five years, I am 99% xanax free when I fly!

I now fly 2 times every month back and forth to NY. But, the real test was flying across the Atlantic in 1996 when Lee and I decided to spend one month in July of that year in Florence, Italy to celebrate our 10-year anniversary. We studied History of Renaissance Art at the British Institute of Florence, 5 days a week - 2 - 3 hours a day - for the month. Lee also took a life drawing class. It was the single most magical month of my life. (The first month of motherhood might tie that.) And it was magical, not just because it was Europe, but because I had transcended a boundary that held me captive for way too long, a mind-made boundary that my daughter does not share.

To be 53 and going to a foreign country - especially Florence, Italy! - for the first time must be like being a virgin at 40 and finding the love of your life! I was so grateful for the time there, for the circumstances in my life that we could go. So, when I see that Isabelle has a different life, one that is not afraid, at 20 years old, I almost want to cry with joy. She will be forever changed by this year in Europe, as I was forever changed by my time there even in my 50s. I know that she will have her own karmic boundaries, but fear of travel and new places and languages and people are not some of them. I have told her since she was young that she could do anything. She had to work for it, create it and be responsible for it....but she could do it.

She's doing it. I am really proud of her and I am tickled beyond words that she likes Italy. Now, I must go to Roma. Don't all roads lead there? Or something like that?

Ciao. Ciao. Arriverderci.